House of Cards, Book One: The Shooting Star
by Petronille
Summary: It would be a marvelous thing for the prince to marry, especially if it would help him to bring his plots to take over the throne to fruition. Haggar intrigues with Doom's queen to bring about a marriage between Lotor and the queen's niece Lucine, setting in motion a chain of events that will forever change the fate of the Drule Empire as they know it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Voltron,_** **but all original characters are mine. This is Book One of the rewrite of the original** ** _House of Cards,_** **which is going to be left up for now. The OFC's name has been changed, and we're starting right before her arrival in court.**

 **House of Cards, Book One: The Shooting Star**

 **Chapter One**

Most of the time the Queen seemed to pretend that the old witch did not exist. Her ladies followed suit, until they got back to the private of their rooms and wondered among each other what their lives might hold for them. Then, after the Queen had retired, they would creep downstairs to Haggar's laboratory, their coins at the ready, wising for their futures to be read. They would drop the payment in her outstretched hand with its withered skin, and would sit on the stool before Haggar's work table as she made a show of peering into the crystal ball and whispering their fortunes to them.

Sometimes they might ask for more, though, such as a charm or spell to entrance a lover or to be rid of a rival…or to gain the notice of the King. And that last possibility would make Haggar shriek with laughter like the madwoman she was thought to be. "Is that what you desire most in the world, child? Think on it, for the King's affections don't come easily! There is always a price! Never forget that!"

At that point, most of the young ladies would back away from her, convinced that the King's affections might cost them too much: their looks, as it had Haggar; their freedom, as it had the Queen; or their lives, as had happened with the Crown Prince's mother. And no one spoke of the Crown Prince's mother within the King's earshot if they valued their lives.

The Queen, in Haggar's estimation, had been the most fortunate out of the three of them. Her father, the Illyrian Grand Duke, had arranged his daughter's to marriage when she had still been very young, so she'd had some time to grow used to the idea, and think on how she might use her attributes and beauty to charm her husband into doing what she might think best. The most logical answer to that would be to bear King Zarkon other sons, for while he had an heir, he certainly needed spares. But the sons did not come, and the Queen had but three daughters to show for it all. After the birth of the third one, Zarlon stopped going to the Queen and contented himself with harem girls and the occasional lady-in-waiting, The Queen bore all of this with the same dignity and poise she had always possessed as the wife of such a man. But unlike the woman who had borne the Crown Prince, and like Haggar, the Queen was a survivor. She would not let one aspect in which she had been determined to be useless define her fate. She'd been clever enough, ah, so very clever, indeed, to see that the King's son needed a mother. And like the dutiful wife she played at being, so was she the dutiful stepmother.

Haggar knew better than that, though. The Queen was far more shrewd than she pretended to be. Haggar had seen the Queen in action, and on more than one occasion had intrigued with her as a means to an end. They had become allies of a sort.

It was the scratching of a young lady-in-waiting's nails on her door that began all of it. The young lady-in-waiting, averting her eyes from the old witch's gave the message quite clearly. The Queen had need of her services. "If you could follow me, please? She would like to see you as soon as possible…"

The old witch had gone to grab her walking stick, glancing at the young lady-in-waiting with a quick cackle. "Of course she has need of me and would like to see me sooner rather than later! All right then, young lady, lead the way!"

The young girl nodded, then scurried to hold the door open for Haggar. This one must be new, an import from the Illyrian provinces, Haggar thought. She didn't carry herself with the hauteur the other young ladies did. It was a common thing now for the members of the Illyrian nobility and aristocracy to send their daughters to King Zarkon's court so that they might make a match with an available Drule nobleman or officer. There was always the hope of catching Prince Lotor's eye, but he had a special bride in mind, a golden-haired, blue-eyed spitfire of a princess who did not return his affections. Many young Illyrian maidens had come to court with high hopes of making a match with him, for they might be the one to make him see sense, and he would make them the Queen of the Universe, and so often they would have their girlish hopes dashed.

The girl led the witch through the twisting corridors of Castle Doom, to the side of the castle that housed the Queen, her ladies-in-waiting, and the three Princesses and their retainers. The Queen's apartments were spacious, and the Queen had had them decorated in the Illyrian fashion, though the red- and black- and white-patterned marble still remained on the floor. The Queen was seated in a cushioned wooden chair, staring into the dying embers of the fireplace, leaning her head on her hand, perhaps reflecting on happier times. When the lady-in-waiting announced Haggar, the Queen rose and the witch bowed humbly before her. "Your Majesty," Haggar murmured, her limbs screaming in protest. The Queen snapped her fingers, and Haggar rose.

"You may sit," the Queen said, pointing to the chair closest to hers with an elegant white forefinger. Haggar rose to her feet and went to sit. The young lady-in-waiting made a face as the witch's joints popped audibly. "You may fetch us some hot spiced wine, Amina," she told the young lady-in-waiting. "Now leave us."

Amina curtsied as she left the Queen's sitting room, closing the door behind her. Haggar turned to the Queen once they were left alone. "You had need of me, Your Majesty?" Haggar said, just a touch of mock deference dripping from her voice.

The Queen sat down in her chair, her dark eyes not leaving Haggar. "The King spoke of his son this evening when I dined with him," she told Haggar. "He is ill at ease. This is the one time he's pleased with his daughters; they don't vex him so."

"But they have no claim to the throne, either," Haggar reminded her. It was the Drule custom for power to pass from father to son, never from father to daughter. A custom that could easily be changed if Zarkon wished, but he didn't think his daughters as capable of ruling as his son and heir was.

"It's said that this last plan to capture the Arusian princess and make her his bride was foiled yet again by her knights, the pirates of the Arusian war machine," the Queen went on, folding her hands in her lap. If anything could be said for the Queen, she knew better than to wear too much jewelry. Today her gown was of a deep green velvet with gold stitching on the skirt; she wore only her diamond wedding ring and the infamous teardrop-shaped emerald-and-diamond ring that Zarkon had had custom made for her, a pair of diamond-and-ruby earrings, and a diamond tiara.

"That's what happened," Haggar replied.

The Queen sighed. "And so he's gone to one of his holdings to lick his wounds, hasn't he, instead of admitting that it might be better for him to listen to his father for once?"

"I wouldn't say he's licking his wounds, Your Majesty, not him, at least."

The Queen laughed ruefully. "Well, to rethink his strategy, then, as any good general does." She frowned. "The King is most distressed by this. As am I. I raised the boy as my own from his tenth year onward, and I don't like to see him so pained."

"Neither do I, Your Majesty," Haggar replied sympathetically. The Queen was planning something. "But he'll be back soon enough, either of his own accord, or when the King orders him back."

"Or if his sisters wish to see him," the Queen said. "He does love them."

Amina returned with the hot spiced wine, pouring them each a goblet before leaving. Haggar sipped it thankfully; it warmed her arthritic bones. She remembered when the young Alexandra Vasary had come to Planet Doom from Illyria to become the second wife of King Zarkon. She had changed her name when she had married him, becoming Queen Roxelana. The King had been hoping for more sons should something happen to Prince Lotor. This was not to be, though. The Queen had borne Zarkon three daughters within five years. Zarkon had stopped going to his wife just after the birth of his youngest daughter, but he still valued Roxelana's counsel just as much as he valued Haggar's when it came to his son.

Once the lady-in-waiting had left, the Queen resumed their conversation, "I may have come up with a way to end the King's worries and to continue the royal line," she said. "This also may heal the wounds on my poor stepson's heart."

Haggar wrapped her hands around the goblet of warm wine, leaning forward to indicate her interest. "And what are you proposing, Your Majesty?"

A smile played on Roxelana's lips as she stared down into her own goblet of wine. "As you know, my brother — God rest his soul — had two children. A son and a daughter. My father is raising them, preparing them for greatness. My nephew will eventually become Grand Duke of Illyria. My niece, however, is being prepared for an alliance marriage. Zarkon is keeping her on reserve, using her as an incentive of sorts for his generals. Defeat the Arusian war machine, and you shall have the hand of the lovely Archduchess Lucine for your own. Perhaps this is the only silver lining that comes with the defeats of the likes of Carp and Yurak." The Queen sipped her wine, her dark eyes sliding up slowly to meet Haggar's.

"Do you wish for me to speak to Zarkon about this?" Haggar asked her. This could prove to be very interesting, indeed. The Queen might grow to be a formidable ally in Lotor's plans to eventually overthrow Zarkon and take the throne for himself. Haggar had never brought up the subject of what might happen to with his stepmother and half-sisters should be oust his father from power, but Lotor had mentioned that the girls would be suitable for alliance marriages when the time came.

"Not yet," Roxelana answered, pouring herself some more wine, then offering some to Haggar, who declined. "If anything, my stepson is not one who would willingly be told what to do by anyone, especially not his father. But he can be coaxed into seeing reason, albeit slowly. If it was done by the right people."

"How would it be done?" Haggar queried. It would be a marvelous feat to get the prince wedded and bedded. It might put Haggar back in the good graces she once enjoyed with Zarkon.

"It wouldn't be done yet. Lucine is very young still, only sixteen. My father would have her wait until she's eighteen to marry, but he has conceded to let her come to court, to serve as my lady-in-waiting and to oversee the care of her cousins. That nanny Zarkon brought up from the slave pits is really inadequate." The Queen made a face as she glared out the window at the garden below, where her daughters played. "I'd keep her, of course, but the girls need to have a proper education. Even if they are the daughters of King Zarkon, they are also daughters of Illyria, and must be taught how to be proper Illyrian ladies."

It was in conversations like this one that the Queen's sense of superiority when it came to her world was all too had been a small confederation of planets and moons, until a century ago, when Alexis Vasary, a young general, hand married the daughter of a wealthy, powerful member of the Illyrian aristocracy and had assumed his father-in-law's seat on council after the old man's death. But he had grown all too eager to pursue greatness, and he had taken over the confederation with the help of a group of minor nobles, the masses, and the army. He crowned himself Grand Duke, and began acquiring territory either through war or intermarriage of his own children with the children of rulers of the planets he wished to conquer. Illyria had been a neutral entity in the Zarkonian Wars until the ship carrying the young archduke and his wife had been destroyed during a skirmish with Drule and Galactic Alliance ships. All aboard had been killed and the current Illyrian Grand Duke, Stanislaus, had been heartbroken, He had vowed that he would never treat with the Alliance, and soon he betrothed his eldest daughter to Zarkon. Ilyria had been brought into the fold of the Drule Empire, ruling itself but still loyal to Zarkon. And it would remain as such until young Archduke Sebastian, who was of an age with Prince Lotor, came to inherit his grandfather's title.

"Does the King know about your plan?" Haggar asked the Queen.

"I will broach the subject to him, eventually. He must see my niece as a suitable bride for his son, which I'm sure he will. If her were to arrange the match sooner rather than later, my father may have to allow for Lucine to be married sooner than he would like. Becoming the mother of the Drule Empire's heir would be a great honor for her. And she would one day be a queen."

"And Lotor's obsession with Princess Allura? What about that?" Haggar asked. "He's vowed not to stop pursuing her until she surrenders and marries him."

The Queen shrugged. "He might have her as a concubine, if he wishes. But Lucine will be married to him, and Lucine will be queen, and Lucine's son will be heir to the throne, not any bastards that he would have by the Arusian parvenue." The Queen sniffed at the mention of Allura of Arus. The Vasarys were able to trace their royal family back to the Hapsburgs on Earth, before Earth's colonies had rebelled and formed their own sovereignties. "What do you think of the idea, Haggar? Do you think the King will be eager to accept it?"

Haggar stared down into her goblet of wine, deliberating what to say. "It's a most ingenious plan, Your Majesty," she began. "I do think it has a chance of working, But I would be more circumspect when it comes to dealing with the Prince. You want to catch him when his pride is wounded, but he's looking for wise counsel. I daresay you'll be a formidable ally in helping him attain what he wants, so long as you craft the marriage proposal to your niece in such a way that it would be tempting to him…" She looked up at the Queen as a smile played on her lips.

The Queen's eyes glittered ominously. She was beginning to form a plan, one that would possibly pose a great advantage to Lotor. "I believe I may be able to," she said. She picked up her goblet of wine, and held it out in a toast. "To grand plans, Witch Haggar."

"To grand plans, Your Majesty," Haggar replied in kind, touching her glass to the Queen's. If the Queen was going to follow through with what Haggar thought she might, then this could bring the plots that she and Prince Lotor had hatched together to fruition — and much more quickly than they had ever anticipated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own** ** _Voltron,_** **but all original characters are mine. This is a rewrite of the original** ** _House of Cards._** **I've made Zarkon's second wife, Roxelana, a much more active character who's in cahoots with Haggar, and it's important to see Lucine's transition from a high-spirited young girl to a clever, cunning woman set to inherit a crown when her husband seizes the throne.**

 **House of Cards, Book One: The Shooting Star**

 **Chapter Two**

The mist was still think that morning when young Archduchess Lucine Vasary left the confines of the gates of the villa in the mountains to go horseback riding. Her grandpapa had specifically told her not to go without any guards, but at sixteen, Lucine wasn't to always listen to her grandpapa, as much as she loved him. Soon, she would have to return to the Capitol to spend the rest of the season at the palace, to attend balls and formal events and all of the boring things that a princess, or as someone as close as she was to a princess, was obligated to do.

At sixteen, Lucine Vasary was the eldest granddaughter of Grand Duke Stanislaus Vasary of Illyria, and she was nearly two years away from marriage. She had already been one of the possible marriage candidates for other young noblemen within the Drule Empire, but her grandfather had declined the marriage offers with the reasoning that she was too young. And at fifteen, perhaps she had been, but at sixteen, it was time that she considered her prospects. The old Grand Duke loved his granddaughter and could not bear to be parted with her. Or so he always said.

She didn't want to leave Illyria, either, especially the holding that was hers, Tyrol. It was a small planet, green and balmy, and full of mountains and tumbling forests. It was almost like living in a fairy tale, though she knew that would one day be far from a fairy-tale princes. It was her duty to marry to further her family's ambitions of achieving greatness. Whatever greatness was, she reflected to herself, spurring her horse into a gallop. She laughed as she felt the breeze stir her hair and as the world seemed to whirl by her. This mus be what freedom was like, to float like a leaf in the wind. To not worry about things like duty and formalities and family loyalty.

She returned later, and was in the process of sneaking back up to her suite of rooms when she ran into her grandfather himself, who had risen early and who had been on his way down to see her. "Lucine," he said, astonishment and amusement making his tone lighter, "where have you been?"

She fidgeted with the skirt of her gown, staring down at the dirt that stained the hem. "I was out horseback riding."

"Alone?" the Grand Duke asked her as he walked with her to her rooms.

She nodded, averting her eyes from his. He sighed wearily, placing his hand on her shoulder once they came to her suite.

"Lucine," her grandfather said once he was alone with her in the privacy of her sitting room, before her ladies-in-waiting were to arrive, "you know you're not to go out horseback riding without an escort. It's not only the danger…"

"I know," Lucine replied, lifting her head to meet her grandfather's disappointed expression with a solemn one of her own. "It's also the way it reflects on me…and upon our family. It won't happen again, Grandpapa. I promise."

Stanislaus Vasary's stern countenance softened. "Good. I'm pleased to hear that, Lucine, especially given the news I have for you."

"News?" Lucine repeated, folding her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking with excitement. She hoped that her brother was coming home for a visit, She missed Sebastian terribly, and wondered what stories he might have of battle and exploration of worlds other than their own. "And what news is this?"

"Your aunt has expressed the desire to join her household as a lady-in-waiting. And I've thought about what chances it might offer you," Stanislaus began, fiddling with the ducal ring he wore on his finger.

"And what chances might it bring me, Grandpapa?" Lucine asked, a little put out that he had come to talk to her about the possibility of marriage, And she knew what was said in the ballrooms, salons, and council chambers of the Illyrian grand duchy. While Prince Lotor, the son of her aunt's husband, pined away for the Arusian princess, he tried the patience of his father, Kign Zarkon, who would wished to see his son marry and provide heirs to the throne.

"It might result in your good fortune," he said. "The Prince's heart is broken because the Arusian parvenue won't have him. The King is furious that his son won't consider the alternatives he proposes. But those other princesses pale in comparison to what an archduchess from Illyria has to offer — vast wealth, the dowry of an army, holdings to add to his own, and a lineage much superior to that of the Arusian parvenue. Your aunt would like to see you married to the King's son before long. Don't you know what that means, Lucine? It means that one day you'll be queen."

"Queen," Lucine murmured.

"Queen of the Drule Empire," Stanislaus said. "An empress, if you will."

"And not just a queen," she said, "but the Queen?"

"The Queen," Stanislaus replied, and Lucine sprang up and clapped her hands in delight.

"And I shall give him sons — but I would like to be a wise, benevolent queen! Not the type who hides in towers and sews tapestries and weeps for her lot!"

"What shall you do, my love?" Stanislaus asked her, smiling.

"There will be music and feasting and dancing every night — if I were queen," she said, dancing a quick pavane before returning to her chair. "And I would make the people love me. I will be as good and merciful as Aunt Roxelana is." She clasped her hands together, her eyes growing starry at the thought.

"You would make a fine queen, my child," Stanislaus said to his granddaughter, "much more so than the Arusian parvenue."

"But will the Prince see that?" Lucine asked, her brow crumpling.

Stanislaus laughed. "My darling girl, with your beauty, wit, charm, and bloodline, you are incomparable. And the Prince shall see it that way, I promise you that."

Roxelana dined with her husband the following evening. While he didn't come to her chambers any longer — something for which she was grateful, simply because his hands were so cold and his claws were so sharp — he still made a point to show that the marriage still meant something. The Illyrian alliance had not only brought Zarkon more territory, but it had also brought him an armada of ships and a dowry of several planets and moons. And unlike many of the women he cavorted with, Roxelana was clever — dangerously, ruthlessly so. It had been she who had whispered in his ear the name of the minister who might have poisoned him last year, and sure enough, the page in the minister's employ had been found with the poison on him and had, under torture, given the names of all those who had been involved in the conspiracy and confessed to his part in it. The minister and all those who had participated in the scheme had been summarily executed, their assets seized by the crown. Minister Stefak's wife and children might have been sold into slavery as well, as would have the families of the other men who had been involved. But Roxelana had whispered into his ear again, suggesting that he might show mercy. The Queen took the children of those families under her wing, and had them sent to Illyria to be fostered by families loyal to the crown. The wives of the men entered the Queen's household. But they did not come to court; instead, they held position as chatelaines of the Queen's country homes, and were kept under constant watch should they at any time be disloyal to the crown.

This time Zarkon was in a fouler mood than usual, and Roxelana motioned to her slaves to keep the Tyrusian wine coming so that he might remain in as pleasant of spirits as could be expected.

"How many losses in battle have we suffered because of mad obsession with the Arusian slut?" Zarkon demanded, his yellow catlike eyes blazing.

"Parvenue would be a better word, husband," Roxelana told him gently, motioning for the slave to place more roasted fowl on his plate. "He must be reminded that her blood and lineage are inferior to his."

Zarkon sneered, pulling a drumstick off of the roasted fowl that had just been placed on his plate. He took a large bite from it, chewed for a moment, and then continued. "He doesn't fucking care, Roxelana…Do you know how many times I've reminded him of that? And he doesn't fucking care! He's determined to have her!"

"Madness," Roxelana murmured, shaking her head and placing her hand over her heart. "It troubles me to see you so ill at ease, husband. And yet, it troubles me even more to think of what might become of Doom should Lotor not marry and beget an heir soon." She sighed and shook her head.

Zarkon put down the drumstick and reached for his goblet, staring at Roxelana. "Why don't you try talking some sense into him? You are, after all, his stepmother, and have treated the boy like your own son. He values your counsel, just as I do."

Roxelana picked a grape off of her plate and stared at it for a moment. "And what shall I say to him that will make him change his mind?"

"I don't know what you ought to say. But do as you have always done. Reason with him. Coax him. Cajole him. Whatever you must do to make him see reason, I would like you to do."

Roxelana sipped her wine delicately. "Have you thought of arranging another marriage for him?" she said. "Perhaps Haggar and I could see to it. It should be the last thing for you to worry about, husband."

Zarkon stared at her for a few moments, his yellow eyes narrowing. She wondered if he might think she was playing a game with him. Making the King see your part in things was a game, and a tricky one at that. Zarkon had a terrible temper, but Roxelana had learned quickly that she ought to approach him as his dutiful, loving wife.

"I have been in talks with the King of Demos," he told Roxelana. "I have plans to arrange a marriage between his daughter, Coralle, and Lotor."

"Coralle of Demos?" Roxelana murmured, reching for a fig and gazing down at it deliberately. "In exchange for what?"

"An alliance with the kingdom of Demos would be beneficial to the Empire," Zarkon relied, his eyes not leaving Roxelana. He eyed her for a few moments. "But you have someone else in mind, don't you?"

"It's entirely your decision, husband," Roxelana said, biting into the fig and smiling slightly as she chewed.

Zarkon clenched his jaw. "You would like to see your niece Lucine as his wife, wouldn't you?" he said, drumming his sharp nails on the table.

She sipped her wine, careful to maintain her composure. "If he would have no one else. She is still quite young, though."

"She might be more biddable, though, if she's younger," Zarkon mused. "And they've known each other for some years, since they were children."

"But the match with Demos is a strategic one," Roxelana pointed out.

Zarkon guffawed, slamming his open palm down on the table. "You're trying to be charming, wife! Have you met the Princess of Demos? Have you seen pictures of her?"

"I have," Roxelana admitted, still holding her husband's gaze with her own. "She looks lovely enough, and she looks as though she might bear Lotor many sons. But in the end, husband, she is from a planet that could very well have its own plans for us. She is an unknown quantity."

"Another alliance marriage with Illyria would show that I'm a fool. We have no sons, you an I, only daughters." Zarkon gestured for more wine.

"The fault is not all mine," she reminded him. His brow knitted, and a glare began to form. "Your sorceress was mistaken in her predictions of when it was best to come to my bed so that you might conceive a son. Yet she hasn't failed you in matters that are more important."

Zarkon curled his lip, and a flash of white teeth showed. "Daughters are useful for alliances," he said. "I will grant you that. Now what do you have to say about another possible Illyrian marriage?"

She waited until after the slave had left them, then fiddled with the grapes on her plate, lost in thought. What to say to Zarkon to make him seriously consider this? "My niece Lucine," she said, "might be considered a potential bride for your son."

He chewed his food for a few moments as he deliberated. "Would he have her? He's already turned down all of the prospective Galran and Drule brides I've paraded in front of him."

"He can be persuaded to have her. A sizable dowry and a little encouragement from you would make all the difference." She picked up her wine glass. "And a little coaxing from Haggar and myself. He doesn't need to love her, he just needs to produce an heir and a spare. Let him have his Arusian parvenue princess as a concubine, should he wish it, but make sure he understands that he must get a son off Lucine first."

"And Lucine? Does she have a say in the matter?"

"She will do her duty as a Vasary, husband, and give you grandsons. We weren't so lucky." Here Roxelana stopped, lowering her eyelids dolefully. "Yet perhaps with the intercession of your Witch Haggar, they will have sons."

"As you ought to have done," he clipped out, and the nonchalance of his tone hurt, just a tiny bit. She hadn't trusted the witch at the time, not like she did now. She had been told that Haggar had once been Zarkon's mistress and therefore bore a grudge, and was someone to be avoided. How wrong her father had been! Had she gone to Haggar for help sooner, she might have borne Zarkon a son or two to go along with their three daughters. And there would be some hope for some peace to come to the galaxy if Zarkon were to pass up Lotor to allow one of his Illyrian sons to come to the throne instead.

But it wouldn't be that way. And now Roxelana had to place her hopes in Lucine.


End file.
